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David shakes my hand once more, his expression relaxed and open. "Take care of each other, Megan."

"We will," I promise.

Once the front door clicks shut and the last set of headlights pulls away down the street, the house settles into a peaceful, intimate silence. Brock lifts a sleeping Kayla into his arms and carries her upstairs to bed, his footsteps muffled against the carpet.

I walk into the living room and stand near the fireplace, watching the red embers pulse softly against the brick hearth. The warmth of the room wraps around me, and for the first time in months, the quiet feels completely calm.

A few minutes later, Brock comes back downstairs. He walks straight across the hardwood, slides his arms around my waist from behind, and pulls me flush against his chest, resting his chin against my shoulder.

I lean back into his strength, resting my hands over his forearms and breathing in the familiar scent of cedar and clean wool. "Is she tucked in?"

"Fast asleep," he murmurs against my temple. He turns me gently in his arms, his dark eyes intense and steady in the dim firelight. "You were incredible today, Megan. Watching you with my family... with Kayla."

"Your family is wonderful, Brock," I say softly, reaching up to rest my hand against his cheek. "They love Kayla and want her protected. Being here felt... natural. Real."

"It is real," he says, leading me to the sofa and sitting down, drawing me close against his side so that my head rests on his shoulder. His arm wraps securely around my waist. "I need you to know where I stand. Today wasn't just about introducing someone to my parents. I'm completely committed to you, Megan. I'm not doing this halfway or holding anything back."

My breath hitches slightly, my pulse thrumming with certainty. "Brock..."

"Listen to me," he says, his thumb tracing my jawline with quiet tenderness. "I know our situation has been complicated, but nothing about what I feel for you is temporary. I want a full life with you. I want us building a permanent future together."

A wave of warmth tightens my throat, steady and clear. I place my palm flat against his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat beneath his sweater. "I want that too, Brock. I'm not running from this. I'm completely with you."

Brock’s throat bobs as he swallows, his gaze deepening with raw emotion. "I love you, Megan."

The words settle straight into my heart, solid and true. "I love you too, Brock."

He leans in and kisses me—slow, deep, and tender, sealing the promise between us in the quiet glow of the fire. When we part, I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as deep contentment settles over me.

Chapter Eighteen

BROCK

The ring sits in my jacket pocket, a small velvet box that feels heavier than it should. I've checked for it three times in the last hour—once before I left the house, once in the car, and once more as I stand outside Megan's apartment door.

It's there. It's been there since I picked it up from the jeweler two days ago.

A platinum band with a single oval diamond, elegant and understated, exactly like Megan. The jeweler asked if I wanted something more elaborate, and I'd said no immediately. Megan doesn't need elaborate. She needs something that says I see you. I know you. And I choose you.

I knock, and the door opens almost immediately.

Megan stands there in a deep green dress that hugs her curves, her dark brown hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. She's wearing the small gold earrings I gave her last week, and when she smiles, my chest tightens with the force of how much I love her.

"Hi," she says, her voice warm.

"Hi." I step inside, my hands coming up to frame her face, and kiss her slowly. "You look beautiful."

"You said to dress up." She glances down at herself, then back at me, her brown eyes curious. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

She narrows her eyes, but she's smiling. "You're being mysterious."

"I'm being romantic," I correct, taking her hand. "There's a difference."

The drive to the Grand Sovereign Hotel is quiet, Megan's hand resting in mine on the center console. She doesn't ask questions, but I can feel her curiosity building. When I pull into the hotel's circular drive and hand my keys to the valet, she turns to me, her expression shifting from curious to uncertain.

"Brock—"